


In a Different Light

by PeeDeeTee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Consoling, F/M, Friendship, Tenderness, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeeDeeTee/pseuds/PeeDeeTee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye starts out seeking a father figure, then ends up wanting more.</p><p>This is dedicated to zauberer_sirin, whose work in Coulson/Skye fanfic really opened my eyes to what a beautiful love story these two can have and to the limitless possibilities.  :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Decision is Made.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



> First Skye/Coulson fanfic.
> 
> I know NOTHING about Call of Duty, and you will quickly realize that. I give myself an A for effort though. And I wouldn't subject myself to calling my 12 year old nephew who is a Call of Duty expert for notes on his aunt's fanfic.
> 
> There will be more chapters, hopefully even a little smut. :)

 

 

When she looks back at how it happened and why, she remembers the day he cupped her cheek in his hand, wiped away her tears and took her into his arms.

It was the first time anyone had ever done that to her; given her a moment where she felt so safe, so protected, and so  _loved._  

She'd never been hugged like that by anyone.  Not Miles, not any of the casual boyfriends, no one from the orphanage or from the foster families.  But in Coulson's arms, things made sense, and the universe didn't seem like it was singling her out anymore.  She pressed up against him so much she could feel his heartbeat, and she smelled his wonderful aftershave for hours after.  He had kissed the top of her head, wound his arms around her and said, "We'll find answers together."  

Those were the exact words she wanted to hear, from the exact man she wanted to hear them from; and Skye realized that moment on she wanted Phil Coulson to be much more than her boss.

 

 

She makes a promise to herself that night.

She buckles down and channels all her energy and talent into an agent-in-training Coulson would be proud of.  Ward eyes her suspiciously during hand-to-hand combat training because she isn't asking for time-outs, whining about how tired she is, or making jokes.  It's the same thing at target shooting, and during her breaks she pours over the telephone book-sized SHIELD manuals and focuses on memorizing and understanding all the mumbo-jumbo.  What she doesn't understand is brought to Fitz or Simmons or May, who also throw the same suspicious looks at her because it's just so odd (albeit very much welcome) seeing her like that.

The highlight of her day always comes from Coulson, of course.  He rewards her with an approving smile or nod, or comment about how he likes seeing her like that.  And on the outside, Skye replies with  a trademark quip or smiles back, but internally, her heart is soaring over rainbows sprinkled with gumdrops and unicorns are prancing around.

She also finds it promising that as his approval for her mounts, he lowers his walls bit by bit, and he begins to allow her more and more into his personal space.  He has off-duty relationships with everyone on the team that she envies, because she would see him joke around with Ward and May, and be all big-brother-y to Fitz and Simmons.  She suffers through a pang of envy once when she sees him offer Simmons to eat from his plate of pancakes, going so far as to pass her the maple syrup while he reads from the morning paper.

Oh, how she over-analyzed that one to its death.  

That day she worked even harder with Ward during hand-to-hand combat training; and had told him to stop going easy on her because she was never going to get good enough if he did.  

"What is up with you lately?" he asks her, really befuddled at the 180 degree turn his trainee has made.

"Nothing," she says defensively.  "I just wanna do well and not do something stupid like... get killed, you know?"  

Thankfully, he drops it.  Or so she thinks.  Next thing she knows, she's flying through the air and landing on her back, and getting the wind knocked out of her.  When she opens her eyes, she is looking up at Coulson's frowny face, and she wonders  _Aw, fuck, what'd I do this time??_   But the frown turns into a grin and he offers her a hand, which she gratefully takes as he pulls her up.

Now it's Ward on the defense.  He might have gone a little too far, and if Coulson is pissed at him because he's hurt his precious 084, things can get unpleasant.  "She asked me not to go easy on her," he says.

"Teach her the counter," Coulson orders, a bit peeved an S.O. was being unnecessarily rough.  Then to her, "You're going to love the counter."

"I don't think she's ready for it yet, sir," says Ward of such little faith. 

Coulson looks at her; chin defiantly sticking out, glaring at her trainer.  "She is."  He goes up the spiral staircase and watches from above.

And she was.  After just 10 minutes, she has  _Ward_  flying through the air and it's awesome.  Awesomer than that is seeing Coulson on the balcony, watching her proudly and chuckling, as Ward picks himself up off the floor.

"Told ya," Coulson smugly says, before turning and leaving.

That was the highlight of Skye's week.

 

 

She wants to gloat some more that night but everything except her earlobes hurt.  At 1AM, she gives up trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, because there  _is_  no comfortable position to sleep in.  Everything is sore and/or aches.  She decides a bowl of mac and cheese might soothe something, and maybe a glass of milk, and heads to the kitchen.

She's pleasantly surprised to see Coulson at the bar nursing a bourbon.  It takes a lot of willpower to act casual and not give-away how happy she is to see him in this setting.  Away from everyone else and off-duty.  He's out of his suit and in his usual sleepwear of black t-shirt and gray SHIELD stamped sweats, looking too cute to be her boss because he's yawning like a little kid and barefoot.

 _Keep cool,_  she reminds herself.  "Hey, boss."   _That was good!_

Coulson looks up and smiles at her.  "Hey," he greets.  "You did good work today.  Way to kick Ward's ass."

She approaches him at the bar and sits down gingerly in front of him, looking at the glass of bourbon, and wonders if he'll offer her a sip.  When he doesn't, she tells herself sharing a drink is not like sharing pancakes, and she shouldn't over-achieve.   _Baby steps_ , she reminds herself.

"Thanks," she replies, wincing again.  "Though honestly it feels more like I got  _my_  ass kicked."

"Because you did," he points out.  "But getting your ass kicked on a daily basis is part of the process," he says, in that father-figure tone Skye is beginning to crave for more and more.

Skye says, "I know, I'm not complaining."

Coulson shoots her a look.

"... _a_ _nymore,_ " she adds.  "I want you to be proud of me," she blurts out.  She didn't mean to say it out loud and wishes she could take it back.  But when Coulson places his hand over hers, she doesn't anymore.  

"I already am," he says.

The way he says it, with his warm palm sheltering her hand and his soft tone makes Skye believe him.

 

 

She nukes a bowl of mac and cheese and brings it to the table with two spoons.   He might not be willing to share his bourbon, but she'll take his willingness to share her mac and cheese as the next best thing. They are sharing a bowl, and her brain tells her she will never forget this moment; that it will forever be something she can remember and go back to when she's had a shitty day. The soft drone of The Bus' engines in the background, the silence and darkness surrounding them, as if they were the only two people in the world, and watching Coulson enjoying the bowl of mac and cheese she made while he speaks in low tones.

Skye begs him to tell her about his role putting The Avengers together.  In  _detail_ this time, as he is always vague and downplays his role in the whole thing.  He indulges her, but still brushes off his part.  He tells her about what a pain in the ass Tony Stark is, what an oddly nice and quiet guy Bruce Banner is.  How having Thor and Steve Rogers side by side leaves in their wake a trail of swooning women. 

They talk well into the night about everything and nothing, which is usually what makes the best kinds of conversations.  Skye has never seen him smile so much, and she decides she wants to be the reason behind as many of them as possible.

It's almost sunrise by the time Coulson tells her to go to bed and get some sleep.  

"What about you?" she asks.

Another smile, but a sad one.  "Tonight's a lost cause," he says resignedly.  And Skye garners from the tone it's one of many she never knew about.  

She hesitates, wanting to say something that will make him feel better.  He mistakes it for something else and gently takes her arm and escorts her to her quarters.  She giggles and says, "I wasn't expecting an escort."

"Too bad, you got one." He pauses, and his eyes search hers.  It's fleeting, but for Skye it feels like half an eternity.  And when he leans in, panics, because  _Oh my god, is he going to kiss me!?_

He does, but not on the lips.  Is it weird that she is both relieved and disappointed that's where his lips ended up?  It's a sweet, very chaste and fatherly kiss on her forehead.  But for Skye, it's a breakthrough and her heart is singing.  They are standing so close to each other that she can smell the distinct Coulson scent she loves.  Remnants of his after shave, bath gel and his own unique scent blended together, already imprinted in her mind as safe haven. 

Coulson reaches behind her to tap the entry panel to her quarters, and when the door slides open, she steps inside.  She wonders if he's ever escorted Simmons to her quarters, if they've ever shared a bowl of mac and cheese at 4 in the morning, and if Simmons has ever gotten a kiss goodnight.  

 _Probably not,_ she gloats.  "Good night," she says.

He smiles at her before saying "Sweet dreams," and shuts the door.

Skye's dreams are indeed very sweet.

 

 

Once, twice a week, it becomes a habit.  She and Coulson somehow manage to "bump" into each other late at night or around The Bus at odd times.  She's careful not to show the others.  She knows Coulson will cut their rendezvous at the head if he even senses the others think there's something else going on between them.  

So usually it's short conversations in the SUV during slow days, or long ones late at night over mac and cheese or left-over pizza or instant ramen.  

One night, she hears gunfire coming from his quarters and it sounds familiar.  She presses her ear up against his door.  Her boss is playing  _Call of Duty_ .  Thing is, she is awesome at  _Call of Duty_ , but she hasn't played in ages, and wonders if he wouldn't mind a game or two.  She's got a big bowl of freshly popped popcorn in her arms, having intended to spend the night watching a couple of illegally downloaded hi-def movies, but this will definitely  be more fun if Coulson lets her play.  

She knocks on the door hesitantly as soon as there's a drop in volume from the game.

"Enter," Coulson calls out.

She hits the entry panel and sticks her bowl of popcorn in as soon as the door slides open.  "I come bearing gifts," she says.  She sticks her head inside and he grins at her.

"Sorry, was I playing too loud?  Forgot to charge my headphones," he apologizes.  "Haven't had a chance to play in ages and didn't want to get rusty."  He's sitting on the edge of his bed, game controller in his hands, still in his work clothes but sans coat.  His shirt is unbuttoned, tie loose, and sleeves rolled up.

She puts the bowl of popcorn down on the bed beside him and looks at the screen.  "You on X-Box live?" she asks.

"Yeah.  Capture the Flag.  These guys are either good, or I suck more than I thought," he says.

"Well, I do hate to gloat - " she begins.

"Let me guess.  You rock at  _Call of Duty_ ," he finishes for her.  "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

She shrugs, offering a smug smile at her boss.  "Does anything I do still surprise you, sir?"

His eyebrows knit together, indicating he's giving the question some serious thought.  "Yes, actually," he says.  "Like a book that just keeps getting better."  

It's a simple compliment, but Skye blushes.  She's more than happy to sit down when Coulson pats the space on the edge of his bed beside him and hands her a controller.  

She takes it and settles in.  "Let's kick some ass, boss.  Show these guys how it's done!"

 

 

Two hours later, they've won six consecutive games in a row.  Skye has adopted saying "Booyah!" after every kill, and they have mastered the art of the fist bump without taking their eyes off the screen.

Coulson is amazed at how quickly she adapts to being his wingman.  She knows where to go without being told, how to give him cover, and instinctively knows what she needs to do.  Even more incredible, she knows all the terms that just a couple of months ago she called "gibberish". They're working in perfect synchronicity, their teamwork practically infallible.  He remembers it took months for him to establish that kind of wordless communication with May and Barton on the field.  True, they weren't on an actual battlefield, but it still spoke volumes about Skye's abilities, given a chance to shine.  

He finds himself staring at her for a few seconds at a time, noticing what a beautiful woman she is and how fascinated he is with her.   _If I ever had a daughter, I'd be the luckiest father in the universe if she were anything like Skye,_ he ponders.   _But having half my genes is a guarantee she won't be this beautiful._

Thankfully, she's too engrossed with the game to notice.

Another win later, they throw their controllers down at the same time in triumph.  It's 3AM, and their eyes hurt.  They both fall back on the bed, arms stretched out over their heads, but only Coulson groans.  "Oh, my aching back," he complains.  He turns his head to face her.  "That was awesome, though."  

Skye looks at him, and sees him smiling at her.  A really nice, having-so-much-fun kind of smile.  "That was totally awesome," she seconds.  "Thanks for letting me play."

He props himself up on an elbow.  "I may have let you play, but that was you kicking some serious ass," he says.  "Like a good book, you keep getting better," he repeats.

"Thanks, boss," she replies shyly.  Suddenly, she's super aware that they're both lying down on  _his bed_.   It's very quiet in his room, and she can smell his after-shave.   _God, he smells good._ Her gaze settles on his handsome face.  For a guy almost twice her age, Phil Coulson was the kind of guy you appreciated looks-wise the first time you saw him, but became increasingly attracted to the more you got to know him.  

 _Wait, where did that come from?_  she wonders.

He tilts his head and grins at her.  "What's with the face?" he asks.  She's looking funny at him all of a sudden.  

She blushes again.  "Nothing, nothing," she says dismissively.  "I uh, I just realized something."  She tries to get up, but Coulson doesn't want to let it slide.  He takes her arm, intending to sort this out first, but she ends up losing her balance and falls on top of him instead.  

They are suddenly chest to chest, one of her palms on one of his pectoral muscles and the other on the bed.  His hands are on her hips, trying to steady her because if there's any more squirming down there, it's going to be very embarrassing.  

Skye is now beet-red and flustered, and a part of her still-functioning brain is telling her she should try to get up and put some distance between them, but mostly all she can think is  _He smells so nice, and he's so warm and he's a lot more muscle-y than I thought._   This close, she really gets a good whiff of his after-shave and unique scent and oh... she never noticed how beautiful his eyes are.  Blue-green with flecks of gold.

"Skye," he whispers, when the stare has gone a little long.

In reply, she lays her head down on his chest and sighs deeply.  She closes her eyes and enjoys hearing his heart beat.  How can it be so steady, when her own is beating frantically?  Damn the consequences whatever they may be.  This feels too good to pass up.  She hadn't realized how much she had missed being this close to him; and this time, she isn't crying her eyes out and hearing devastating news.  So she's only a little exasperated when she gets another kiss on the top of her head.  But a thrill runs up her spine when he starts to rub her back slowly, and lets her stay where she is for a couple of minutes without another word.

He ends it all too soon for her taste.

Gently, he helps her up off of him.  They both stand up from his bed, and he can tell she doesn't know what to say to cut the tension.  "Hey," he says.  She looks up at him, but isn't quite able to look him in the eye.  "I'm going to call The Hub tomorrow and make an appointment.  You and me, simulated black ops.  I have a feeling you're going to kick ass."

She smiles, appreciating his attempt to keep her from further embarrassment.  "Thanks, boss."

She exits his room and holds a hand up.  "No need to escort me to my quarters, sir."

Coulson nods.  He doesn't close his door until she disappears into her room, an odd look on his face that Skye doesn't see.

 

 

 


	2. Feelings Surface.

 

A couple of weeks later, they've had only one other late-night rendezvous.  It's not because of what happened the night in Coulson's room.  Lots of mission stuff happened, and they were constantly busy and there was always new people on The Bus.  Not conducive at all for Skye/Coulson bonding.

Skye had taken to a new tactic to keep the closeness, however.  She missed their talks too much to just sit around.

 

NEW MESSAGE  
  
TO: A.C.  
  
MESSAGE:  
You good?

A couple of minutes later, her phone beeps.

FROM: A.C.

MESSAGE:  
I'm good.  You?

 

She lies down in her bed and turns most of the lights off in an attempt to simulate their late night talks.

TO: A.C.

MESSAGE:  
Going to bed, just wanted to check-in.  Super tired.  Super long day.

She stares at the screen, waiting, waiting, waiting for a reply.

FROM: A.C.

MESSAGE:  
It was.  Tired too.  You did good work today.

Skye smiles.  She begins to key in a few words, then backspaces them all away.  She does the same thing 3 more times before settling on:

TO: A.C.

MESSAGE:  
Thanks, boss.  I try.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Beep.

FROM: A.C.

MESSAGE:  
Goodnight.

She was hoping for a little more.  The single word reply was a buzzkill.  She tries to not let it ruin her night, and settles for imagining where he is and what he looked like during the all-too-brief exchange.  In her mind's eye, she's picturing him in bed, like she is.  Or maybe fresh from a bath, walking around his quarters while toweling himself off.  Or maybe he's already in bed, reading lamp on, with a book on his chest and his cellphone in hand.  She hopes he smiled when he read her last text.

She falls asleep that night with the image of Phil Coulson lying in bed, smiling, while looking at his phone.

 

 

 

Four days later, things on The Bus have finally quieted down again.  It's raining outside, and Skye finds herself missing her Coulson time.  The loading ramp is down, and the SUV gone, leaving Lola all by her lonesome.  

An idea pops into Skye's head, and she goes into the training dojo and pulls out a cushioned mat, then drags it outside to lay it beside Lola.  She sits on it and drinks in the view.

She's always enjoyed rainy weather.  She loved curling up in bed with a good book to enjoy it when she was a kid; whether it was in the orphanage or one of her foster homes. The rain symbolized an escape, and a tranquility that only Mother Nature could offer.  A couple of minutes later, she pulls her phone out.

TO: A.C.

MESSAGE:  
Busy?

A minute later:

FROM: A.C.

MESSAGE:  
Just finished up some paperwork.

She hesitates, wondering if she should read too much into his reluctance to ask a follow-through question.   _Screw it,_ she thinks.  _  
_

TO: A.C.

MESSAGE:  
Lola and I are having a moment.  Care to join us?

A couple of minutes later, a pair of trouser-clad legs appear beside her.  Skye looks up to see Coulson smiling down at her, two frosty beers in hand.  He hands one to her and sits down.  

"Quiet around here," she points out, before taking a swig.  "Where is everyone?"

"Supply run," he answers.  "Ward and May for ammo, FitzSimmons for lab stuff."

He looks out at the view, also a fan of rainy days.  He used to run through his neighborhood as a young man whenever it poured.  His dad had told him once that rain was God's way of cleansing whatever it touched.  So when his father died, Phil Coulson ran every time it rained, in the hopes that his anger and frustration would be washed away.  

It never really worked, but it made him feel closer to his father's memory.

He turns to Skye, and taps her on the knee.  "You in a sentimental mood?"

She nods.  "I love the rain."

"Me too," he says, but he's looking at her, not outward towards the sight outside.  He sees her shiver from the cold and slips his jacket off, then places it over her shoulders.  

"Thanks," she says, a bit startled.  His jacket is warm and smells like him.  She tries not to be too obvious when she takes a deep breath.

They're silent for a few moments, just enjoying the view and each other's company.  Skye is trying to work up the courage to say something.  Something that's been on her mind for quite awhile.

"Sir?" she asks timidly.  It doesn't feel like a 'sir' moment, but she knows he doesn't like her calling him Phil.

He chuckles.  "We're off-duty, Skye.  I give you permission to call me Phil."

Well, that was going to make it a bit easier.  "Phil," she begins, then hesitates.  How is she going to say what she wants to say without coming off as a needy, emotionally unstable, immature dork?

"Phil...what?" 

Skye swallows.  Might as well just come out with it.  "Sir.  I mean, Phil.  I know that being a SHIELD agent means dedicating yourself entirely to the greater good."  She pauses, trying to get the right words out and not making a mess out of things.  She sees Phil nodding, taking her question in.

"But..." she says, hesitating again.  "Does it mean like... never being able to settle down?  Have a family?  Fall in love?"  She risks a glance at him.  He's looking out, and smiles sadly into the distance.

"I mean, I've heard other agents talk and well..." she uses her hands to elaborate, words coming out faster than intended.  "I don't hear anyone ever talking about their wife or husband or kids."  She pauses, wondering if she should say what  _else_ she hears and decides she's already got one foot in her mouth, might as well stick the other one in too.  "I just hear about the FuBus."

Coulson spits out the beer halfway down his throat on that one, choking for a couple of seconds, which makes Skye thump his back, trying to help.  He waves her hand away, assuring her he's okay.  "FuBus?" he finally manages to say. 

"You do realize I'm old enough to know what a FuBu is, right?" She's got her Coulson-Forgets-A-Lot-I'm-24 face on.  "Old enough to have one if I wanted," she adds, wondering what kind of reaction she'll get with that one.

But Coulson doesn't react the way she thought or wished he would.  "I know," he says neutrally.  "But I'd rather you found yourself someone to fall in love with, though."

"Why?" She wonders only then if _he_ has ever been in love.  Can't imagine he would ever had found the time to have a life outside of SHIELD.  She sees him working even on his days-off, more dedicated to his work than anyone she's ever met or even heard of.  

Without turning to her, he says "Everyone deserves to fall in love."  His tone is wistful and gentle.  "To be with someone who'll look after you, take care of you, want to make you a better person. Be in your corner, telling you even if it feels like it, it's not the end of the world."  He stares out into the rain, remembering days passed.  From literally, another life. 

By his definition, Skye has never been in love.  What she had with Miles was mostly sex, and a little bit of dangerous codependency.  He came at a point in her life when a pretty face and an understanding of her passion was all she needed to give her heart on a silver platter.  

As though reading her mind, Coulson asks, "Miles?"

Skye laughs, a little bitterly.  "Maybe that wasn't love," she says, inhaling deeply.  "Maybe it was a stupid infatuation that got a little too far."  She wants to know more about Coulson, because it will provide fodder to her late night fantasies and make them more real.  

 _I've gotten this far, might as well take it to the next level,_ she thinks.   _He said we're off-duty.  I can call him Phil.  Worst thing he can do is shoot me down and tell me to mind my own business._

She studies him for a couple of seconds.  She likes to think she can read him better now, and doesn't think he's going to shoot her down.

"What about you?" 

He faces her, Coulson-grin in place.  "What about me?"

He's teasing her, she knows.  It's a good sign.  "You know.  Ever been in l-o-v-e?"

It was the rain, the view and the company.  

Coulson finds himself telling her all about Audrey.  

Skye watches him, envious at his tone.  Envious he has memories like that, and has felt for someone the way he has, even if it ended the way it did, in a most unbelievable fashion not even the movies could play out, and crushed him.  He speaks about her the way she wants to be seen by someone who says 'I love you', and she thinks that if this Audrey woman ever saw Phil Coulson describing her, and what she was in his life, she would drop everything and be with him to the end of days.  

She finds herself jealous of this woman she's never met, who has been in Phil Coulson's arms and known what it's like to be cared for by him.  Caressed by him, whispered sweet thoughts to, shared moments with, been made love to.  And then, the realization that _she_ wants what Audrey had with him is so impossible that it's light years away, brings a sorrow over her heart that it aches painfully inside her chest.

Involuntary tears breach her eyes, and she squeezes them away, hoping he doesn't see them.  She sniffles as quietly as she can, but he hears her and he turns around, surprised at her reaction.

"Hey," he says gently.  "My little sob story wasn't meant to make you cry."  He throws an arm around her shoulders and brings her to his side, pressing her against him.  Another chaste kiss on the top of her forehead.  Today she smells like strawberries.  

She's grateful he doesn't know the real reason behind her sobs, so she doesn't correct him.  Instead, she presses against him more and puts her arms around him and hugs him tight; and buries her face in the crook of his neck, wetting it with her tears.  She lets the crying out, weeping for so many reasons.  For the hurt he's endured, for her realization that he will never want to be with someone like her, and for her tragic love story.  All of it, conveniently hidden behind a fabricated truth of his own making, to spare her some modicum of dignity at least.

Skye wants to laugh, wants to go hysterical, wants to do a lot of things but she won't.  Despite the dull ache in her heart that feels as though it will never go away, the rest of her is so very much aware of the heat emanating from the man who has her in his embrace.  That scent again, loaded with pheromones, encapsulating her and making her feel safe and yet aroused.  The deep and steady rhythm of his breathing and the muscles underneath her fingertips.  

She wonders what he would do if she kissed him right now.  Just a centimeter away or two from her lips, she feels his jugular; pulsing steadily like his heartbeat.   _Just a kiss_ , she tells herself.  It wouldn't go far - they are in full view of the outside, and any one of the team could come back.  Tentatively, her hands which have been around his rib cage pull away and make their way up to his neck instead.  

He doesn't tense up, but Skye has never been a seductress, and her courage suddenly dissolves.  She contents herself with the hold they have on each other, wishing she were maybe more like May who would probably already have Coulson as a willing sex slave as soon as she decided she wanted him.  

She's never felt more immature than this.  She sighs raggedly.

His index finger cups her chin, making her look up.  His eyes search hers.  "You okay?" he asks, because he's a nice guy like that.  His face is just inches away from hers.

 _Kiss him kiss him kiss him!_ A voice screams inside her head.  His eyes are really so beautiful and soulful.

The roar of an engine breaks the moment and she, not he, hastily pulls away.  The SUV's headlights suddenly cut through the darkness, and thankfully, they are sitting innocently side by side by the time it hits the ramp.

Skye is already standing and hurriedly walking away by the time Ward and May get out.

"Was Skye crying?" asks Ward, craning his neck as he watches her storm off.  "How come?"

Coulson shakes his head, lips pursed together.  He would rather not answer, but now even May is waiting for an explanation.  "She heard a tragic love story," he simply says.  

He walks outside into the rain, with May and Ward watching as he breaks into a run.

 

 

  


	3. Redemption comes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end.
> 
> I gave an "E" rating, and an "E" rating you shall get.

  
  
He's running.

The rain and biting cold do little to calm his frayed nerves and chaotic thoughts.

 _When has it ever, Phil? When has it... ever?_  a little voice bitterly says. He refuses to answer, because answering would be disrespectful to his father. He focuses instead on the muscles in his legs that are screaming at him to stop, the thumping of his heart, and the steady pounding of his feet on the wet tarmac.

Night has fallen completely over the airfield, barely illuminated by the perimeter floodlights; hardly visible because of the downpour.

 _Splash, splash, splash,_  go his footfalls in the shallow puddles.   _Thump, thump, thump,_  goes his heart.   _Idiot, idiot, idiot,_  goes the voice.  It's much louder now, and sounds like his, but it's sinister and sounds droll; as though it's sick and tired of narrating his sorry life.

_You fell in love with her, and you didn't even know it.  Tsk, tsk, tsk._

_Here's how it's going to play out, Phil._

_You guys are going to have sex.  You're going to think it's spectacular, she will fake her orgasm.  The next day, she will be repulsed with herself because the novelty of fucking her boss is going to wear off, and she will realize all she's done is fucked a dirty old man who took advantage of her vulnerability.  And then you will lose her and never see her again._

His scar starts to hurt, every beat of his heart hitting it and making it feel fresher and fresher.

_That sound about accurate, Phil?  Have I hit the nail on the head with that?_

_You're going to suck it up and do the right thing.  You will be her boss and her father figure because you owe that much to her.  You will keep your dick in your pants and watch over her and protect her like a good father should.  And even if it kills you a little bit each time she smiles and touches you, you will take it like a man, because you are fifty fucking years old, and being in love doesn't suit you._

_Never has, never will._

Anger bubbles up from deep inside.  It feels good, only because anger is better than heartache.

_You think you love her?  Then prove it._

_You've had your moment.  Let her have hers._

  

 

All she wants to do is lie in bed and wait for the ache to go away. It sits on her heart like a dark troll; painful, persistent and heavy. She has no one to blame but herself. She can hear Sister Agatha's voice saying  _Be careful what you wish for_ , and Skye's tears start falling again. Because years later, she finally knows first hand what Sister Agatha meant.

 _I wanted a dad_ , she muses. _I got one. Then I wanted more. Serves me right._

She hugs her pillow to her chest as tightly as she can.  If she squeezes hard enough, maybe the ache in her chest might lighten, even just a little bit.

Good ol' Phil, stepping up to the plate like that.  God knows he didn't have to.  The last thing he needed with everything already on his plate was to take care of an object of unknown origin with some severe daddy issues.    

She took pride in never being a burden.  At the orphanage, they taught that early.  The older girls used to say if you inconvenienced  or weighed down folks who adopted you, you got returned and they would put a mark on your record and other parents wouldn't want you anymore.  Skye wasn't sure that was true, but she didn't want to risk it.  So from early on, she learned how to earn her keep, and yet... she would get shuffled around anyway. 

So she tried harder.

And she was doing a pretty good job, too.  When she buckled down and made good, she became an integral part of the team.  Even May had told her so; and May did not hand out compliments easily.  

Her initial intentions were pure, to be sure.  It's just that somewhere along the way, they mutated into something she hadn't counted on.

 _Way to fuck up a good thing again, Skye._   

 

 

 

 

The rain has alleviated to a drizzle by the time he gets back to The Bus.  Gone for an hour, it feels more like a year.  There are four heads in the cabin windows peering at him.  Ward looks perplexed, May looks pissed.  Fitz looks scared, Simmons looks worried.  

No Skye in sight; no surprise there.

He walks up the ramp slowly, the first break his legs have had since he left.  His breathing has returned to normal, but everything else aches.  Of course, Simmons is there with a towel and medical advice he must do _immediately_ , lest he catch his death of cold.  She is smart enough not to ask why on earth he went on a run in the rain and freezing temperatures; with a perfectly good, state-of-the-art treadmill in a climate-controlled area.  She has yet to make the connection that alongside her superior's odd behavior, Skye has not come out of her room since she and Fitz got back.

 _He isn't even shivering,_ she observes.  She hopes it doesn't have anything to do with GH325.

He takes the towel with a curt, "thanks" and makes a beeline for his quarters.  It's obvious Agent Coulson wants to be left very much alone.

 

 She's contemplating about asking for something from Simmons to help her sleep.  Maybe in sleep, the pain will go away and give her some relief.  She isn't suicidal, but man, the pain is just coming in an endless sea of waves.  She wishes she weren't so dramatic and such a rookie with her emotions.

Coulson's jacket smells so good.  She's wearing it now and it's too big for her.  She's wrinkling it to death, rolling from one side of her bed to another, hugging it to her tighter.  She hopes the smell never, ever goes away; because it gives her so much comfort.  Taking it off will be difficult.

It didn't feel like this when she and Miles ended it. 

 _Definitely not,_  she reminds herself.  She rolls over on the bed, rehearsing how she will ask Simmons for something while not giving anything away.

Coulson's voice replays inside her head, and she remembers the wistful smile his mouth formed talking about her, and how calm and tranquil his voice sounded. 

She would never measure up to Audrey; never be _his_ next Audrey.

 _Pull yourself together,_ she orders.  Even in her head, it lacks conviction.

A sleeping pill from Simmons sounds like the only good idea floating insider her head amidst all the others.

 

 

He leaves behind him a trail of little puddles as he makes his way to his quarters. 

When the door hisses shut behind him, he peels his wet shirt off.  Soaked in water, it feels ten times heavier than it actually is, turning him off to the idea to immediately take off everything else for now.

He's in a semi-daze; incapable of thought, but heavy with regret and remorse. 

He pulls his t-shirt off  his head.  It's clung to his torso, and is even more stubborn than the shirt.  So much so that it makes his scar throb harder and he winces, and he has to grip the edge of his table to wait for the pain to pass. 

A deep breath, a grimace.  He tells himself it's the scar.  He knows it's what's behind it that's really hurting.

 

 

She's on her way to Simmons, rehearsing her lines.

_Yeah, I hate pills but I had too much coffee and I need to get up early for training with the T 1000._

Over and over, different intonations.   Stresses on different words.  She's confident she will deliver it flawlessly by the time she reaches Simmons.

In between rehearsals, her mind strays, consoling herself, berating herself, cursing herself.  So what if she's in love with Coulson?  He doesn't know.  Can she keep up with this charade?  For how long?  Can she handle working in close confines with him? 

 _Why can't I be more like her?_ she asks herself.  The very idea of how she is the polar opposite of Audrey sends a stab through her heart. 

She steps on something wet and looks down.  There are puddles of water on the floor leading to Coulson's room.  Warning bells go off in her head and she hastily follows the trail; and when they lead directly to his door, panic sets in. 

"Coulson," she says.  And then "Coulson!" as she smacks the entry button and rushes inside, expecting to see someone inside with him, trying to kill him.  Or worse yet, Coulson already dead.

What she did _not_ expect to see, is Phil Coulson standing in the middle of his room half naked.

 

 

A multitude of thoughts run amuck in her mind.

_Oh thank god he's okay._

_That's... not how I pictured a 50 year old's body to look like._

_Holy hip dents, Batman.  Coulson has abs.  And fucking hip dents.  And pecs._

_Why is he grimacing?_

"Skye..." Coulson says, wincing.  His scar is really hurting, and he has no idea why Skye has burst into his room and is now gaping at him, open-mouthed. 

"Skye!" He leans over the table again, one hand touching the scar, making sure it isn't on fire, because it feels as though it's burning.

This finally snaps Skye out of her trance, and she hastily approaches him, her hands not quite sure where  to go _because he's naked from the waist up,_ she thinks.  _Where do I put my hands?_

Tentatively, she puts one on the ball of his upper arm and the other on his shoulder.  "I thought... thought something... puddles!" she stammers, assuming the disjointed words will make sense.  His flesh is icy-cold and he looks like he's in a lot of pain.

"Coulson... what's wrong?" she finally manages.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, willing the pain to go away.  He's mastered this mental exercise, but is disconcerted that he's had to do it again after such a long time.  His Loki remembrance hasn't given him this kind of anguish in months.

One more ebb and it settles to a dull throb.  "I'm okay," he assures her, slowly taking his hands off the table and standing straight.  "What is it?"  He turns slowly to face her.  

Though his quarters are twice as large as hers, she suddenly feels a bit claustrophobic.  There's something bitterly ironic about finding herself in his room with him standing before her - shirtless no less - on the same night she's come to realize she's in love with him.

 _I'm the butt of some cosmic joke,_ she surmises.  She still can't find her voice, and he's looking at her expectantly.  But she's fixated on the jagged, ugly scar on his chest and she suddenly realizes what it is.

"That's... that's where Loki - " she whispers, her hand involuntarily reaching up to touch it.

Gently, he grasps her wrist, quite unwilling for her to touch it. 

Skye gasps at the sudden contact, eyes fluttering up to his, immediately apologetic.

Her eyes, so full and deep, are what undoes him.  Something inside him breaks, crumbles, falls apart, disintegrates.  Her wrist, so small in his tightening grip is trembling; and suddenly he wants to fix everything that's wrong and make everything well again.

Slowly, slowly, he pulls her towards him.  It's just two small steps, but it feels to Skye like she is crossing a chasm.  Their eyes are locked on each other, and then... she is almost stomach to stomach with him, standing between his legs.

He brings her hand up to his chest and places it over his scar, her fingers settling lightly over it.  They are the only two people in the world now, and both of them are breathing heavily.  Her index finger traces a small portion of it and he flinches, almost imperceptibly, not from pain but from arousal.

She explores every little groove, every crease, every bump with her fingers.  He's let go of her wrist now, his hands behind him, resting on the table he's leaning against.

Still, not a word is spoken.

Skye doesn't know what's taken possession of her consciousness; but the girl who, just a few hours ago, couldn't even find the courage to kiss the man in front her is now trailing her fingers down from his scar to his sternum, then his diaphragm and his stomach.  She glances down, sees his abdominal muscles flexing and risks looking up at him, encouraged by his reaction.

She can't read him.  He's studying her intently, as though trying to decipher what she's thinking.  He's not _objecting_ , which to her is really the most important thing. 

At least it is; until his hands reach out to rest on her hips to pull her in for a slow, deep, kiss.

 

 

 


	4. Promise.

  
  
One look.

One look from her was all it took to melt away months of carefully assembled steely resolve in the blink of a tearful eye.

There's no fumbling, no awkwardness or clumsiness.

There's a brief pause; just right before their lips press together.  A soft sigh against each other, a little puff - happy to be let out, relieved it's _finally_   going to happen, before mouths open simultaneously.

Coulson's hand reaches up to cup the side of her face, fingers tangling in her hair.  The other curves around her waist, drawing her closer.  His trousers are still cold and wet, but she can feel his hardness through the fabric; and when she grinds herself against him, she feels the rumble of appreciation from deep within his chest.

His tongue sweeps through her mouth, possessing all of it, making it his own.  Thrusting gently, insistently, but letting her explore his as well. They're breathing each other in; deep but ragged breaths that make Skye feel she's going to hyperventilate any second now, but she doesn't care.  Coulson has slipped a hand under her shirt, and his warm, rough palm coasts all over her back, pulling her closer to him, pressing her breasts against his chest.

Her hands are on his shoulder blades, feeling every groove, every dip, every texture and every scar.  Far away, she wants to remember to ask him about every single one of them.

He nips at her mouth, bites gently on her lower lip, then gives it an apologetic peck.  She does the same, except a little harder, but he doesn't even flinch.  She grinds against him more, wants him to want her more.  He gasps; Skye loves that he's made that sound because of her. 

He's  never wanted anyone this badly.  He's looking forward to hours and hours of exploring every inch of her, his Skye.  The very thought of spending hours tasting -

_Aw, fuck._

He suddenly remembers where they are.  He pulls away from her lips, grits his teeth and looks down.

His voice is low, frustrated, worried.  "We can't do this," he says.  He pulls back, she tries to pull him back in.  He presses his forehead against hers, Skye tries to kiss him again.

She wants to scream out in frustration.  She knew this was too good to be true.  Her heart feels as though it's being ripped into two.  Her eyes slam shut, she doesn't want to cry, dammit... how pathetic would that be?  Did he want her to beg?

"Hey," he says.  He pulls her into a tight embrace, is surprised when she starts to pound his chest.  _What the hell?_  

He realizes she's _crying_ , and shit... he's really fucked it up this time.  He misspoke.  Wrong words, wrong time.  He grabs her wrists, forcing them down, wrenching them around his waist so there is no room for her to flail. 

"Shh... shhh....shhh..." he whispers against her ear, willing her to calm down, but she's beyond consoling for now.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Coulson?" she spits out.  "Why don't you want me?

There.    
  
She's said it.   
  
Screw pride.   
  
Screw self-esteem.

A deep ragged breath, and he pulls her back into his embrace.  His arms snake around her, hugging her so tight it's hard to breathe.

"Skye," he says raggedly.  He places his mouth next to her ear and starts to rock her again.  "I want you so bad it hurts," he says.  "What I meant is we can't do this _here._ " 

It takes her a few seconds to calm herself and get her bearings, and understand what he's trying to say.  She knows he's right.   
  
She's just as guilty as the rest of them for knocking on his door at all hours; to ask questions, to follow-up requests, to get briefed.  
  
But the fire inside her is consuming her, making her tremble and just wants to be sated, so no matter how logical what he's saying is, does little to quench the fire.  She tilts her head up and nuzzles his neck, giving him a tentative lick, making him groan again.   And she likes and hopes that she can make him understand how badly she needs him and _this_.

Of course he knows.  He's there where she is, probably wants her more than the other way around.  The only difference is, he's got to look 3 steps ahead for both of them and there's no way in hell their first time is going to be a quickie.

He cradles her face in his hands, wipes away her tears with his thumbs and presses his forehead to hers.

"You have no fucking idea how much I want this," he says through gritted teeth.  Her hands are resting on his hips; he's not sure if she realizes it, but her fingers are caressing the flesh right above his belt, a gesture to self-soothe, but it's driving him to the brink.

"When we do this, I want us to take our time." He kisses her again, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, drinking her in.  She makes little sounds in the back of her throat and grinds herself against his hardness again, taking his cues now, following his lead and letting him set the pace.

"I don't know if I can wait that long," she confesses.  "I might go postal here, Coulson.  On _The Bus_.  It's that bad."

"I know," he softly says.  He takes her wrist and gently leads her to his bed, where he lays her down. 

She's confused but excited - did he change his mind?  She's not going to argue, but dear god, if she's misinterpreted this and it ends up being a rejection... going postal is definitely on the horizon.

"What're you doing?" she asks breathlessly, as he arranges both of them on the bed.  She, on her back.  He, lying almost on top of her.  He places soft kisses on her forehead, her cheeks and lips and starts to softly sip on them as his hand begins to explore.

"Just going to help you take the edge off," he says. 

Skye doesn't know what he means.  Her thoughts are quickly becoming disjointed because his mouth is doing things to her mouth she didn't know were possible.  His tongue is thrusting gently, delicately, inside her mouth, engaged with hers in a beautiful getting-to-know-you dance and she's immensely enjoying his taste.  Clean, like water from a brook high, high up in the mountains.

He cups her breast through the fabric of her t-shirt and bra, fanning his thumb over her very-erect nipple, and wishes yet again they had the time and privacy to really do what he wants  to do.  It would barely take two seconds for him to see her naked breast, but he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that seeing Skye's naked breast will be his undoing.  He must content himself for now with the little sounds of appreciation that come from the back of her throat as he courts her nipple to full attention.

He can feel her frustration building, and knows tonight won't be the night they actually get to make love.  That doesn't necessarily need to stop him from giving her a taste of what's to come.

His hand reluctantly leaves her breast and coast down her stomach, feeling the muscles quivering underneath his touch.  Skye's breath hitches against his mouth as he unsnaps her jeans button, and his fingers gently skim her navel before dipping down to her mound.

"Fuck," he hisses, when he realizes she's completely hairless.  It heralds an immediate exploration of her folds and a smile.  "You're soaking wet," he whispers against her lips.

She nods.  "From the moment I walked in and saw you," she acknowledges.  She tilts her head up for a kiss and thrusts her pelvis against his fingers.  "Coulson, please."

He obliges and thrusts two fingers into her.  It takes just one, two, three thrusts to find her spot; and based on her almost violent reaction, and the absolutely shocked but intensely erotic expression on her face, it's the first time anyone's ever touched her there. 

Coulson locks his gaze on her.  For him, nothing comes close to the pleasure of watching a woman being brought to orgasm.  He pays close attention to everything; the small sounds she makes, the spasms around his fingers, the flutter of hands and fingers, and the minute but significant shifting of her hips.

"Do you always get this wet, Skye?" he asks, his pumping never missing a beat.

She shakes her head, unable to find her voice.  Her fingers reach up to cradle the side of his neck, clinging on for dear life as she groans.

"I'm going to love going down on you," he murmurs against her mouth.  "And you're going to love it."  His fingers go deeper, all the while maintaining pressure on her G-Spot; the spot she had written off as non-existent on her.

 _Just going to help you take the edge off,_ he had said.  Now she gets it.

Skye would never have pegged him for this kind of pillow talk.  Confident, cocky.  Then again, if anyone could pull it off, it was him. 

For now, all she wants to do is ride the wave of ecstasy, if the sensory overload doesn't kill her first.  Her legs squeeze together, sending Coulson's fingers in deeper.  He would have loved to prolong this, but they were already pushing their luck as it was.

Her fingernails sink into his forearm and her eyes slam shut.  He clamps his mouth over hers, knowing she's on the brink. 

A firm press, another thrust, and a rub on her clit elicits a harsh gasp before she cries out into his mouth, as wave after wave crashes over her.  Her muscles tighten around his fingers and she bites down on his lip unintentionally, drawing blood.  She's shuddering hard, but his arms hold her steady as the waves gradually but deliciously slow down to little tremors.

She passes out for a few seconds.  Phil gently pulls his fingers out of her and waits, staring at her, his heart hitching as he drinks in the beautiful woman in his arms, still aglow from the orgasm he's just given her.  He rains gentle kisses all over her, nudging her back to consciousness, his hands enjoying her smooth skin and curves.

Slowly, her eyes open and she sees him smiling down at her. 

She sees the blood on his lip.  "Oh my god, did I do that?!"  Her fingers fly up, mortified she's hurt him.  "I'm so sorry,"  she apologizes, coming up off the bed to kiss the nick, and sip the droplets of blood away.

His cock twitches even harder at the erogenous display of subservience.  He kisses her back hard, hands cradling her face, laying her down on the bed.

"What about you?" she asks, nodding at the tent in his trousers.  "I want to take care of you, too."  She reaches for him, but he gently takes her wrist and places it back by her side.

"I'll be okay," he assures.  "You've got to get back to your bunk."

"I know, I know," she whispers.  She sees the tented fabric on his pants again.  "That looks... painful," she sympathizes.                                                            

"It absolutely fucking is," he agrees.  "And believe me when I say, there is nothing in the universe I want more now than to be inside you."  He nuzzles her face, breathing her scent in deep into his lungs.

She shudders, closes her eyes and does the same.   She wishes she could stay with him for the night.  Just feel his flesh pressed up against hers, kiss again and enjoy the warmth of his embrace.   
  
Reluctantly, she follows his lead when he swings his legs off the bed.  He stands up, offering his hand so she can do the same.

When she does, she immediately walks into his arms for a tight embrace and buries her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder.  "I just want to be with you," she says, forcing her tears to stay away.

"I know, baby.  I know."  The term of endearment slips out.  He doesn't mean for it to be a commentary on their age difference. 

Skye doesn't take it that way, anyway.  It doesn't sound sexist or condescending to her; it sounds like Coulson acknowledging the depth of his feelings for her, and recognizing that their relationship has elevated to a new level.  "Tell me it's going to happen soon."

He pulls away from her, cradling her face in his palms and looks deep into her eyes.  "It will.  I promise."  
  



	5. Build-Up is a Bitch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well...
> 
> This starts out with a sincere continuation from the previous chapter, then just segued to a fantasy wrought with verbal smut. 
> 
> Did I at least TRY to make it believable? On a scale of 1 to 10, I give it a chicken drumstick. 
> 
> I promise to get back on track.
> 
> Eventually.

Skye is in his arms.  They're as pressed together as humanly possible standing up.  She loves just laying her cheek on his shoulder, breathing him in, feeling his warm flesh.  His hands are curved over either side of her ribcage, his face buried in her hair.  It's an embrace, an assurance, a promise of things to come. 

He wants to escort her to her door, but that's just not going to happen in the state he's in.  She tells him she's going to miss him with those baby browns eyes of hers and he scrambles to find a way to make it better.  He gives her the t-shirt he slept in the night before, and her eyes light up- and that makes him ridiculously pleased with himself.   

He sends her back to her quarters after another toe-curling kiss, she sneaks in another hug.  "Good night," she whispers against his lips.  A nuzzle, another deep breath to smell him.   

"Sweet dreams," he replies.  His palm cradles the side of her face, thumb fanning her cheekbone.  "I'll be thinking of you." 

"Me too," she says, before finally walking back to her room.

 

 

Her door isn't completely closed yet, but she's already stripping out of her clothes.  A quick shower so she can slip into Coulson's shirt and fantasize about him in bed sounds like the perfect  way to end a shocking but extremely pleasurable day.   

She still can't get over how just a few hours ago she was in tears; heart wrenching itself into knots.  And now... she's just come from his quarters, post orgasm, still throbbing and smelling of him.   

 _Phil Coulson fingered me,_ she tells herself. _And it was the hardest orgasm I've ever had in my life._  

She slips his t-shirt on and buries herself under the covers, trapping his scent inside with her.  

It's enough to drive her fingers down, past her belly, as she sighs his name again.  
 

 

His pants are dry as a bone by now, the heat from his and Skye's bodies having nuked them.  He slips them off and takes a shower, raging hard-on still at attention despite the cold blast of water.   

Jerking off in not an option.  There's a masochistic need inside of him that is meting out this punishment on himself for flagrantly disregarding his own resolution not to get involved with her in  _that_  way.  The voice has been trying to get a word in edgewise, but Phil is in no mood for self-flagellation.  

He's on a fucking high right now.  A high he's never ever reached - not even remotely come close to - on all of his years on earth. 

It had become a bit obvious over the last couple of weeks that something had shifted in her.  But Phil was king of denial when it came to matters like this.  And when deniability ran out, there was always psychology to fall back on.  

He had been the object of infatuation more times than he could count in all his years in SHIELD, especially when he became an S.O.   The psychologists used to warn them that junior agents and agents-in-training who had daddy issues tended to latch on to Supervising Officers.  And in SHIELD, those were never in short supply.  

But Coulson was selective and smart.  Unlike other agents who were quick to nail anyone that was ready and willing, he preferred distance.  Romanov had expressed an interest in him a couple of times, and Phil was flattered as all hell, but she and Barton had a  _thing_ , and albeit it was a very  _convoluted_  thing, the connection he had to Barton as a previous SO was enough to keep his zipper shut tight.  Not to say it didn't take every fucking ounce of self-restraint to say no to that, because it did. 

 _That_  was the kind of principled man Phil Coulson used to be. 

 _Used_  to be. 

Until Skye. 

When he slips into bed, the hard-on has finally mellowed down, but it twitches at the vaguest recollection of Skye.   Skye's lips, Skye's tongue, Skye's skin, Skye's gasp, Skye's breast, Skye's scent. 

His dreams that night are the most vivid they've ever been.

  

 

At breakfast the next day, Skye is practicing being nonchalant. 

She nonchalantly says, "Good morning, boss" as she takes her seat opposite of Coulson who is sipping on a cup of coffee.  He is much more adept at nonchalant, she quickly learns.  He looks up exactly the way he always has and says "Morning, Skye" exactly the same way too. 

Everyone exchanges pleasantries and goes back to their meal. 

When she sees the tiny little nick on his lip from where she bit him the night before, she tastes him again and it sends a bolt of arousal zinging through her. 

He's reading something off of his tablet, most likely SHIELD communiqués.  She wonders if he knows what he's doing to her.  

She kinda wants to see if she can do the same thing to him. 

So when May goes back to the cockpit and Ward announces he's going to hit the treadmill leaving Fitz and Simmons behind, Skye leans back in her seat and waits. 

It doesn't take very long for the two scientists to become absorbed in their own thing, as was always the case after breakfast.  A couple of minutes later, what Skye has been waiting for happens. 

Coulson looks at her.  He knows their two companions aren't paying them any attention, and so does she.  Without breaking eye contact, she unbuttons the first two buttons on her plaid shirt to reveal she's wearing his t-shirt. 

He raises an eyebrow and licks his lips.  
  
 _Check,_  thinks Skye.

  

**LATER THAT DAY.**

It's a bait and switch operation. 

Intel has word about a drop-off.   Someone's paid $4 million for a list of names of every single buyer of Chitauri metal and weapons since the invasion. 

Their asset has informed them that the buyer is in his mid-forties, has a girlfriend in her early 20's and drives a black Lamborghini.  The Dealer does not know his name or what he looks like, just details that will make him unmistakable.  

Coulson can pull off mid-40s without a problem, but Skye doesn't have anything in her closet that will be suitable.  May to the rescue, who has black dresses of every shape and form imaginable that Skye is on the verge of being scandalized but wisely keeps it to herself. 

When she enters Coulson's office with May later in the evening to let him know she's ready, he hits his knee on his table and winces. 

May smiles at her.  "Give him time to get used to seeing you like this," she warns.  "Or it'll be on him if The Dealer bolts." 

 

 

So Fitz and Skye hijack stoplights and the guy's GPS, making him drive through an alley where May and Simmons are waiting.  Two shots from an ICER later, guy and girlfriend are being pulled out of the black Lamborghini, and Coulson and Skye are slipping into it.  It takes all of 56 seconds. 

The image of Coulson gunning the engine on the powerful luxury car in his all-too-perfectly tailored suit and smirk becomes a permanent addition to Skye's memory vault of sexiest-fucking-things-ever list.  

"Are you going to be okay with this?" he asks. 

"Are you kidding?  I get to play your  _girlfriend_."  She leans back against the door, torso facing him.  "So am I going to get the full boyfriend experience from you?"

He puts a hand on her thigh and caresses it.  "Careful what you ask for." 

 

 

From the moment they step out of the car, Coulson has his game face on.   

Skye realizes this immediately, suddenly a little bit intimidated at how he's too good being the attentive, alpha-male boyfriend.  He steps ahead of her, blocking her from the view of others, extends his hand out behind him, not needing to glance back to see if she'll take it because of course in a split second, her hand is there, fingers interlacing with his, letting everyone knows she's there with him and only him.   

When they reach the entrance of the club, the bouncers step aside.  The black Lamborghini is enough of an indication, but the hot chick under his arm, tailored suit from London and vintage Omega wristwatch seal it.  

Strobe lights and deafening music assault them. It's not Coulson's scene, but neither is it Skye's, really.  The club is filled with beautiful people, young  and old.  The only common factor they share is that they are all spoiled, rich and privileged beyond comprehension.  Too many of them are Botoxed, all looking to get drunk, high, laid, or all three.   Yes, usually all three. 

He pulls her in close, arm behind her, hand possessively on her waist.  Skye is getting a little more turned on than she should. They're on a mission, not a date, and although she hasn't seen him, Ward is supposed to be watching over them in case things go south.   

But being able to be out in the open like this, have a taste of what it's like to be Phil Coulson's girlfriend, is making Skye heady and enjoy the role immensely.  

 

The club is packed, every table taken.  It'll be hard for The Dealer to get the drive to them if they're standing up.  Coulson spots the floor manager just a few steps away, and makes eye contact.  The guy walks up to them, summoned by someone who looks like he's a fucking bad-ass and gets slipped  _something_ , but Skye doesn't see how much.  But it's enough to have him pull his radio out, and forty seconds later, another server comes to fetch them and escorts them to a booth.   

"What can I get you and your date, sir?" he asks. 

Coulson rubs his palm up and down the small of her back.  "What do you want, baby?"  He asks it slowly,  voice husky.  A man who doesn't need to rush for anyone. 

He says it so easily that it startles Skye.  But she's so much better now at recovering, so the server doesn't catch it.   

"Cranberry vodka," she replies, smiling. 

The server nods.  "You, sir?" 

"Bourbon, neat." 

"Right away, sir."  He makes a hasty exit, sensing the two customers want to be left alone ASAP. 

Coulson extends his arm, indicating she sit first.  When she does, he sits down beside her, and in one fluid motion, they slip into a position that looks as though they've been dating for weeks.  

It's intimate on every level and territorial. 

Their heads are almost level with one another's.  It's the perfect position to talk in whispers for the two of them; and anyone who sees them will assume they're saying intimate, intimate things to one another.  He can nudge her with his cheek to let her know he wants her to look up at him.  

He is leaning against the plush leather sofa, looking insolent and like he owns the place.  She is leaning against him, half her back against half his chest, looking like she owns  _him_.  Skye likes the idea she's staking out her territory  and she glares at the women who walk past and show an interest. 

 _Keep walking, bitch.  He's mine._ She settles in against him even more, her hand squeezing his knee and she doesn't even know it. 

He feels it though.  He sees the blond walking past, then looking away hurriedly.  Doesn't take a genius to figure out Skye has given her a look, and blondie has been sufficiently dressed down.  He kisses the top of Skye's head,  _It's part of the act,_  he tells himself.  But it's also a silent gesture of assurance.  

 _I'm yours and no one else's._  

Now all they can do is wait.

 

 

Coulson can barely make out the lyrics to the music playing.  Something about blurred lines and someone wanting something and knowing it.  

He's spotted The Dealer watching him and Skye, sticking to the outer perimeter of the club, ticking off the checklist of what to watch for.  Black jacket, gray silk tie with diamond pattern, vintage Omega wristwatch and lastly...young, hot girlfriend.  For whatever reason he has, he isn't entirely convinced yet he should make the drop quite yet, and continues to observe them.  

She reads his mind.  "See him yet?" she asks.  She takes his hand, resting on her hip, and begins to play with his fingers, interlacing them together.  His palm is rough, a working man's hands.  She remembers what it feels like against her stomach.  She feels warmer all of a sudden. 

"He's at our 8," he says, not looking anywhere in that direction.  He bends down to brush his lips against the shell of her ear so she has an excuse to tilt her head and look in that direction. 

She sees the asset, but is distracted by the sudden surge of wetness in her panties.   _God, how does he do that?_

He feels her squirming.  Not much, just a little bit.  She's trying her best to play the role of undercover agent well.  She's doing a great job, so far.  Even if what had happened between them the other night hadn't happened, he knows she  would have been able to pull this off. 

The Dealer looks less weary.  Coulson reads his body language; concludes that all he's waiting for now is an open window to drop the flash drive.  Mission 98% accomplished. 

Time for a little fun. 

He remembers earlier that morning when she unbuttoned her shirt to reveal his t-shirt underneath, cloaking her skin.  Teasing him. 

Now it's _his_ turn to make her squirm. 

 

He nudges her temple.  She tilts her head up and nuzzles his chin affectionately, and gives him a small but wet peck.  He smells so good.

Coulson places a soft, lingering kiss on her brow, and lets his palm wander over her hip and waist, back and forth. 

"Have you been thinking about what I told you?" His voice is low, challenging.  Dark. 

Skye gulps hard.  She's getting hot under the collar of her ridiculously little black dress.  "Which?" 

He smiles against her.  "About how I'm going to love going down on you."   He takes a sip from his bourbon before he places it on the table, and plays with the rim of the glass with his index and middle fingers, sliding them over and over in a circular motion.

Skye's breath hitches as she stares at them, a very erotic image flashing through her mind.  

 _Oh,_ _fuck_. 

She isn't prepared for this.  All she can do is nod, her voice lost at the moment.  She squeezes his knee, then slips her palm over his stomach. 

He kisses her brow again and she looks up at him.  Their faces are so close.  Centimetres apart. 

"You know, after you left my room, I tasted you on my fingers."  He squeezes the flesh on her hip, then rubs it apologetically.  "I almost came without even touching my cock.  You taste  _that_  good, Skye." 

Her legs clench together.  "What're you doing to me?" she asks.  Her voice is barely a whisper and it's trembling a little bit. 

"I want you to come hard against my mouth," he continues.  "I'm going to enjoy sucking on your clit and making it swell.  Would you like that?" 

That smile is still in place.  It's the lazy, cocky smile that Skye is rapidly becoming obsessed with.  She never would have guessed Agent Phil Coulson had it in him to talk dirty during a mission.  

She wants to kiss him so fucking bad.  She thinks a deep kiss will help quell the throbbing inside her.  

"I want to kiss you," she tells him.  

"Ward is watching."  Not that he cares, and it would even be good for him to be reminded of who the alpha dog was in the pack.

"Just a taste."  She slips two of her fingers between the gap of his shirt and strokes his flesh.  His muscles clench reflexively. 

She's already closing the gap between them when she says, "I want him to see this."  She brushes her lips against his.  "I'll say I did it for the mission.  I took one for the team.  He'd be proud."  

Coulson doesn't move.  She opens her mouth over his and slips her tongue inside.  In the middle of this ridiculous club and loud music, she's making out with Phil Coulson and fuck it, but if this isn't the sexiest thing she's ever had the pleasure of being a part of, she doesn't know what is. 

Their eyes close.  His breath is warm from his drink, and soon enough, he plays too.  Their tongues slip and slide against one another, foraying into the other's mouth, tasting every nook and crevice, enjoying all the textures inside.  

Phil adjusts his arm, lowering his elbow a bit so he can place his hand at Skye's nape so he can tangle his fingers in her hair, and press her even closer.  They settle into a rhythm; still urgent, but a little less hurried.    Skye's hands begin exploring, finding ways to anchor herself against him, against his chest, pulling on his shirt for more contact.

She doesn't even notice that The Dealer's walked by their table and left a cloth napkin near her drink.  She makes a whimper of protest when Coulson pulls away. 

"We can go," he says.  He reaches for the napkin, pulls the flash drive out and slips it into his pocket. 

Skye licks her lips, and looks at Coulson's mouth.  It's a little swollen from their make-out session. 

"You're a damn good kisser, you know that?" she says cheekily.

He chuckles and stands up, and offers her his hand.  "I fuck pretty well, too."

 

 


	6. Whatever Will Be, Will Be.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand smut.
> 
> But I made it sweet and deep and meaningful with a touch of profound.
> 
> Bah, who am I kidding. If you find anything profound in here, lemme know.

"Yes, sir.  Members who have over 50,000 points get automatic upgrades.  It's right here in the system."

His 084 has been busy.

"And what's the upgrade?" he asks. 

'You booked a regular room but we've upgraded you to an executive suite."

"Awesome."

 

 

She's just finished taking her make-up off when someone knocks on her door.  She knows who it is, and practically leaps to open it.

Seconds later, framed in her doorway, stands Coulson wearing her  favorite look.  Sans jacket, rolled up sleeves, loosened tie, unbuttoned collar.   Honestly, when did he start looking like a Hollywood circa 1940s movie star?

It takes him all of a second to realize she's wearing nothing but a pair of boy-shorts and his sleep shirt.  Skye doesn't even get to blink before she's hauled high against him, his mouth crushing hers in a savage kiss, hands all over her back before sliding down to her butt to pull her towards his abrupt hard-on.

She feels his cock against her belly as she opens her mouth under him, enjoying the thrust of his tongue and his desperation to feel her.  Suddenly, the kiss  turns gentle, as though he's realized he might be a little too rough, and is repentant.  A ragged breath, an apologetic kiss on the bridge of her nose and hands soothingly coasting up and down her back before he reluctantly sets her down and pulls away.

"Sorry," he says.  He looks like a petulant little boy. 

"No, you're not," she says, grinning.

"No, I'm not."  He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and cups the side of her face with his palm.  "Can you put some bottoms on?"

"Where we going?"

"To my room."

"You know you could've called me up and told me to come over. "

"Not my style."

He waits by the door as she rummages through her overnight bag and pulls on some sweats.  "What set you off?" she asks, grinning.

"You know _exactly_ what set me off."

"Yeah, but I want to hear it."

He strides across the room and pulls her in for another kiss.  "You.  In my t-shirt.  It's a fucking turn-on."  It's a growl and makes Skye weak in the knees.  Her arms come up to rest on his shoulders, fingers twining into his hair.

"I like that sound," she says.

 

 

 They walk hand-in-hand down the hotel corridor, fingers interlaced.

"Are you worried about Ward?  What he'll say to the team after our... display?"

Coulson scoffs.  "Agents have had to do worse to keep cover.  If he reads anything more into it, it's because he wants to."

"But there _is_ more to it," Skye protests, but she's giggling and not really worried.

They get to Coulson's room and he scans the card to let them in, opening the door for Skye.  "He doesn't know that."

Inside, dinner for two has been set-up on the table in the ante room.  Skye is pleasantly surprised - until she sees and smells the food, she hadn't realized how hungry she is.  There hadn't been any time to eat before the mission, and during the mission itself, all she had was a cranberry vodka.    She squeals and jumps into his arms and showers his face with kisses before sitting down to survey the spread; he basks in the show of gratitude and affection.

Of course he's an attentive and considerate boyfriend. 

 _Boyfriend?_ she wonders.  She can't deal with the idea quite yet that Agent Phil Coulson is her boyfriend.  Suddenly, the term "boyfriend" sounds positively trivial. 

So what then?  

Before she can chew on the idea any more, he's taking off the steel food covers one after another from food that are all her favorites.  She's touched that he knows what they are, that he's been paying attention all these months after all.  Spaghetti and meatballs, french fries, pepperoni pizza, a roast beef sandwich and two giant Slurpees. 

"This did not all  come from the menu," she says.

"Nope.  But when you're a Platinum member with over 50,000 points, they go out of their way to show you they care," he grins.

He loves watching her eat.  With gusto, and the enthusiasm of a 12 year old fresh off the playground.  He digs in only after she's filled her plate up.  A lot of things are going to happen tonight, and he wants to make sure she keeps her energy up.

She takes three french fries and dunks them into ketchup before stuffing them into her mouth, making nom-nom sounds at the greasy salty loveliness of it all.

They talk about work, about life.  The conversation is easy and flows naturally.  It's never been awkward.

She remembers the first night they shared her bowl of mac and cheese.  Months ago, on The Bus, at 2 in the morning.  She hadn't known then she was falling in love with him; only that she did love him and it was a strange and foreign feeling because it was a deeper and more all-encompassing kind of love. 

Every day, it felt like more and more molecules insider her were drifting towards Coulson, gravitating towards him, wanting to be near him and keep him safe.

This man, sitting across from her, who saved her from herself and gave her a purpose to make the world better, not for anything else than knowing she could,  when it was the last thing she ever thought she was capable of.  For someone to see her for all of her, flaws and all, but still have that kind of faith in her, was amazing.

It made her want to be amazing for him.

 

After dinner, he goes to the fridge and pulls out a couple of lava cakes and nukes them in the microwave. 

He's thought of everything.  So very Coulson.

She thinks she couldn't love him any more, but she will.

"Little help?" he asks.

She gets up and stands behind him.  She wants to put her arms around his waist and kiss his back, but is that a little _too_ intimate?  She feels like such an amateur right now, completely unprepared for the sophistication of grown-up relationships.  In spite of the fact that the man standing in front of her has brought her to a screaming orgasm, and has said some very naughty things in her ear, how is it she feels as though hugging him in the kitchenette of a hotel room is _too_ intimate?

But he is a mind reader, too.  He glances back and reaches behind him for first one hand, then the other, and wraps her arms around his waist himself.  He pulls her close so that her cheek rests against his back while he finishes off prepping dessert, not saying a single word to her, just enjoying the quiet of the moment.

They sit down on the couch and he leans against the arm rest, then stretches one leg our across the seat, the other foot remains on the floor.  Skye settles in between, resting her back against his chest.

Warmed dessert in hands, 

"So how'd you like playing my girlfriend?" he asks with a grin, spooning cake into his mouth.

She giggles.  "Are you asking me as your girlfriend, or as an operative who was merely  _pretending_ to be your girlfriend?"

"In this case, both."

She licks her spoon, observing that he's watching her mouth with rapt fascination.  "I could get used to it."  She kisses and nuzzles him, tasting the vanilla ice cream on his bottom lip.

"You could, huh?"  He reaches out and caresses her cheekbone with his thumb.  "You make it easy."

Skye blushes.  She flashbacks to that time when she was 12, and Ralph McCarthy had given her a bouquet of daisies after telling her she was the prettiest girl in the world.  Only this time, it feels 100 times more titillating.

Coulson's  finished his dessert and lays the empty bowl on the coffee table.  He patiently waits for her to finish, content to just smell the top of her head and run his hands up and down her forearms.  They need to talk, and as much as he would like to skip it and get down to just making love till the night fades away, he can't.

What's worse is he can already tell Skye senses what's coming next, and she's already apprehensive.  She seems to be taking an inordinate amount of time finishing her cake. 

Coulson knows not to rush her.

He kisses the top of her head, rubs her upper arms and lets her be.  After a few minutes, she puts her bowl down  beside his, then settles against him again. 

She rubs her cheek against his chest and braces herself.  "You wanna talk, don't you."

"Don't you think we should?" he asks.  All he sees is the top of her head.  He wishes she would sit up and look him in the eye.

She burrows her face into his chest and sighs.  "I suppose."

There's a beat.  Coulson is about to say something; about to power through the talk he's carefully rehearsed in his head when Skye sits up and perches herself on his chest so that her face is just a couple of inches away from his.

"Do you love me?" she asks.

"I love you," he answers.  No pause, no hesitation.  He reaches up and cups the side of her face in his palm.  "All of me does.  Even the parts I thought were long dead and buried.  You brought them back to life. "

Her eyes close, enjoying the warmth of his hand against her cheek and the moment.  And the feeling of being loved back, most of all.  She never doubted he would say I love you.  So unlike her last relationship,  where it was a game of who could hold out the longest.  And when it finally happened, it felt contrived and drawn-out to the point of hypocrisy. 

"I love you too," she says.  She leans forward and kisses him gently on the lips.  She really, really, really wants to make love.  But he wants to talk, and she knows it's important that they do.  She really is maturing.

Coulson looks into her eyes.  He can get lost in them and not even realize it.  She's just said I love you too, and it feels as though he's alive for the first time in his life; knowing fully well how ironic that statement is. 

"So what's the problem?" she asks, grinning.  "Nothing, right?  Great, let's get this show on the road!"  And she starts to unbuckle his belt. 

Of course he stops her.  "Skye," he says, a small smile playing on his lips.  She'll settle down when she feels like it.

She sits up and puts a serious face on.   It's dawning on her there is no deterring him from having this talk.  It's so very Coulson-esque to want to analyze everything to death.  To have a Plan A, Plan B, Plan C and Plan D.  To map out all the possibilities and probabilities, the pros and the cons, all the entrances and exits and yaddy-yaddy-ya.  Honestly, the man could beat a point to death and back when he wanted to.  It works to one's advantage during a mission.  Not so much when you just want to make love and have another screaming orgasm.

She concedes.  "Okay,  I'll behave."  She sits up and faces him, tucking her hair behind her ear, placing a palm over his stomach, just wanting contact.

He puts his hand over hers, fingers caressing her knuckles.  "I just want you to acknowledge this isn't going to be easy.  Especially for you." 

"Nothing worth fighting for ever is," she says.  She smiles at him with a wisdom well beyond her years. 

It makes Coulson's heart ache.  He sees the pain etched inside; the battle scars riddled on her young soul.  He has them too, but he's old and deserves them. 

Is he good enough for her?   Strong enough, able enough, smart enough, caring enough and capable enough to take care of her, so that she never sheds another tear ever again?

He doesn't think so.  But he knows no one will try as hard as he ever will, and maybe that's all that matters.  And he's the only one he trusts with her.

"You don't have  to fight anymore," he whispers, cupping the side of her face with his palm.  "I'll do it for both of us."

Her heart swells.  Again, that uncanny knack of his to say exactly what she wants and needs to hear - at the exact moment she needs to hear it. 

That, and that it's coming from _him_. 

Phil Coulson. 

Who made promises he kept, who came back from the dead, who could do things some mortals could only dream of, and helped saved the world.

Who saved _her_.

It starts with a single tear.  He takes her into his arms, she burrows as deeply as she can into his side and starts to cry.  Twenty-four years of being strong, not by choice but for survival, has exhausted her so.  Not just her body, but her soul too.  Her shoulders start to shake, and she trembles as she lets the years of being strong off her shoulders. 

Someone wants to carry some of the burden.   Someone who loves her like no one else has, and no one else ever will.

The funny thing is, she wants to carry some of his too. 

She doesn't think she can love him any more, but she will.

Skye will never know that on that night, as she cried in his arms, tears were falling from him too.  He keeps her in the circle of his arms as she heaves and shudders and lets everything out.  The pain, the rejection, frustration, anger and betrayal.  He kisses her, patiently, consolingly, not saying anything. 

"So tired," she murmurs, when she finally catches her breath.

He kisses her brow and knows even before he sees it that she's fallen asleep.  He wipes her tears away with the pad of his thumb, and tucks her hair behind her ears, brushing wayward strands away from her face, and presses his forehead to hers, breathing her in, then kissing her gently on the lips.  Even asleep, she puckers her lips to reciprocate and it makes his heart ache again.

He carries her in his arms to the bedroom.  She loops her arms around his neck and tucks her face into the crook of his neck.  He kisses her forehead and eyelids before gently laying her down on the  bed.

He mulls over changing into sweats and a t-shirt too, but Skye snuffles a protest and reaches for him, so he slips into bed beside her instead, still fully clothed.  At least he manages to toe off his shoes before gathering her back in his arms.

Like a long-time lover she slides to his side and moulds herself to him like a second skin, throwing one leg over his, and an arm over his torso to tuck a hand between his back and the bed.  Her face zeroes in on the crook of his neck again, a perfect fit, and the last thing he feels is Skye's gentle kiss as he joins her in sleep. 

 

 

When she opens her eyes, the clock on the bedside table says it's 2:03AM.  Sheets of rain pound the windows of the hotel room.

Her cheek is pressed against the warm chest of Coulson, muscles and all, rising and falling gently with each breath.  His arm is around her shoulders, her hand is laying between his pecs.  Her head is under his chin, her leg thrown over both of his with her knee right over a raging morning erection.

And it's huge.

Her suspicions are confirmed.  Agent Phil Coulson is hung.

She flashes back ever so briefly to that time she and Jemma were giggling incessantly about how Coulson walked like he was hung.   Well, _she_ had said it, and Jemma had blushed beet red and admitted in a whisper she had thought the same thing.  And it turned out that May had hearing so good she could probably hear penguins fart in Antarctica if she tried, because from across the room she had said, "He is." And both Jemma and Skye stared at her, wide-eyed, mouths hanging open.

May had shrugged, casually, nonchalant.  "Don't get your panties in a knot.   When you spend years on the field with someone, you find out things whether you or they want you to or not."

That night in his quarters, she had felt it more than seen it, but she'd been too caught up in the moment to fixate on it. 

She had always enjoyed sex well enough, but really didn't get what the big deal was.  She'd had orgasms, and they felt nice, but having an orgasm with a lover and giving herself one were practically the same.  If she was being honest, she liked the cuddling and intimacy more.

But the other night... that was different.  Coulson had taken her somewhere she'd never been.  It was only after, that she finally got what the big deal was.  Why there were sex addicts in the world, why it seemed to be one of the biggest motivations for people to exist, and what all those trashy novels were all about.

That was a fluke, right?  The mind-bending, soul-shattering orgasm the other night had to be a fluke. 

No, it wasn't.  That was Phil Coulson getting shit done.

She's never noticed his obnoxiously long eyelashes, or how beautiful his nose is despite the little crook in it.

She had lain everything out for him last night.  _I'm an emotional parasite that will feed off of you!  Here's how fucked up I am, take it or leave it._  

And he had taken it.  Without skipping a beat. 

And now, they're in Coulson's bed, after spending the night sleeping in each other's arms. 

_He's even sexier asleep._

She unbuttons his shirt slowly, more of a treat to herself than anything else, while keeping her face tucked into the crook of his neck.  She's already seen him shirtless, touched him, run her fingers through his chest hair, but this feels so much more _naughty_ because he's asleep and she has the upper hand. 

She flattens her palm over his flesh, skimming over the planes, parting the fabric along the way.  She fans a nipple with the tip of her forefinger before tracing the angry, jagged scar, feeling every bump and edge and  still, he doesn't stir.

Skye becomes bolder, coasting down to his belly first then the sides of his torso.

Still nothing.

Time to step it up a notch.

Carefully, she extricates herself from his grasp and props herself on an elbow.  Another look of appreciation of Sleeping Coulson, before she lowers her mouth to his, and places her palm on his trousers, right over his cock.  She times the gentle intrusion of her tongue into his mouth with her first squeeze, and finally, she gets a reaction.

His mouth opens slowly under hers, and he thrusts himself gently against her hand.  No words are spoken, just a mutual understanding of what's going to happen next.

A moan from both of them when their tongues touch, and another one from him when she releases his cock to undo his belt buckle.  A gasp from her when he cradles  the sides of her face, and quickly hoists her so that she's lying mostly over him.

She has unbuttoned his pants, unzipped him, and grasped his cock and is caressing his length.  It's a little shocking he's bigger than any of her past lovers, but then again she's really only had three.  And as intimidating as his size might be, she wants him with a fire that will consume her.

The first word is hissed, by him.  "Fuck.  Skye."  It's almost a choke and his breathing turns ragged.  He kisses her hard and deep, slanting his mouth underneath her,  controlling the kiss using his fingers tangled in her hair.

"You taste good," she says breathlessly.  And he kisses like a fucking pro.  It's only now, being kissed by Coulson at leisure, does she realize how clunky and awkward her exes were.  Because the man under her is making love to her mouth as though he's listening to a symphony. 

The slow exploration of her mouth, to the way he suckles on her tongue makes Skye think they're both hearing the same soundless song; working from it, dancing to it, in perfect synchronicity.   She whimpers against him.

She didn't think she could love him any more, but she will. 

She finishes unbuttoning his shirt, and he sits up to slip it off.  He, in turn, slips his t-shirt off her, and immediately takes her nipple into his mouth.    Her hands tangle in his hair as he sucks hard, then soft, lapping at the erect nub and then shifting to the other.  

Skye pulls back, eager to do some exploring of her own.  He's lean and he has chest hair.  She  _loves_ that he has chest hair.  He's got the body of a runner; cut but not bulky.  He's got beautiful edges and indents all over him and his freckles are adorable.  The scar on his chest and back are beautiful to her, and again, she's amazed how fit he is, without any of the vanity. 

He lays her out on the bed, breathing hard as he looks down at her bronzed, sinewy body.  He loves how she isn't skin and bones.  The months of training have given her an athletic build, which has always been his weakness, and the fact that it's _Skye_ sends him into orbit.  Her sweats come off, then her panties.

His breath hitches when he sees her completely nude for the first time, his mouth watering instantaneously at seeing her hairless sex.  His hands reach down, coasting all over her, the smoothness and suppleness of her skin driving him to the brink.

Skye, completely naked, reaches for his belt buckle, caressing his hardness through the fabric of his trousers.  Coulson helps her, her fingers trembling in anticipation at what she's going to find.  His black boxer-briefs come into view, barely managing to restrain his large erection, and when she leans forward to give him a lick through the cotton, his hiss of shock and pleasure make her bite him playfully on the ridge of his cock.

He grasps her head gently, hands trembling a little bit, bringing her back to his eye level.  "Don't.  This will be over even before it's begun," he grates.  He finishes undressing himself hastily, then lays down beside her again.

He's been wanting to do this since the other night, when she came on his fingers and all he had was a little taste.  He moves to her side and rests a hand low on her belly, all the while feasting on her mouth.  When his hand trails lower and a fingertip traces her swollen lips, she nips his lower lip in surprise.  He flinches, but doesn't pull away and his hand immediately goes back to her belly.

She gasps, realizing she's done it again.  "I'm so sorry," she murmurs against him, nuzzling him, casting her eyes down, a bit ashamed she's behaving like a skittish virgin.

"Shh..." he soothes.  "It's okay.  Would you rather I didn't?"

She grabs the back of his head.  "No, no... God, no.  You have no idea how much  I've been looking forward to this." 

With one fingertip, he traces her swollen lips again, pink and slick, spreading her wetness but deliberately avoiding her clit.

She hums and groans into his mouth and shifts her hip, then gasps when he sinks two fingers into her.  He knows exactly where her elusive spot is by now and his middle finger flicks it, sending her hips off the mattress.

The fit is snug, and he suddenly realizes her tightness might be uncomfortable for her when he actually fucks her.  The other night when he first did this, the maelstrom of having her in his arms for the first time shut down practically all of his logic.  He should have known then she might have a hard time accommodating him; he was a bit larger than average but certainly not humongous.  But based on how tight she was squeezing his fingers, he was going to have to go slow and let her take the lead at some point.

He presses in, then pulls back and rotates his wrist, then slowly slides back in again.  Deeper this time, thrusting, then pulling out almost completely, then in again.

Skye squirms against him, thighs clenching and tensing, needing his touch, glad his mouth is still making love to hers because she's drowning in pleasure and loving it.  He can take her over the edge and he knows this with absolute certainty, but he will not.

Not yet.

Her modesty shot, she opens her legs wider and begins to whimper into his mouth, hips lifting to up to meet his fingers, her breaths turning ragged.

"Do you want to come, Skye?" he asks her, lips still touching hers, feather-light.

"Yes."

"With my hand?" He presses again, deeper.   There's no denying now how tight she is.  "Or my mouth?"

Her eyes squeeze tight, so does her pussy.  She gasps, "Your mouth."

"I was hoping you were going to say that."   He pushes back, begins kissing his way down but takes a hardened nipple in his mouth first, sucking first gently then heavily, before laving it with his tongue, then giving it a gentle tug with his teeth.  He gives the other side the same treatment, loving when she threads her fingers through his hair to pull him in closer.

"Coulson," she breathes.  "You're killing me."

His thumbs rub over the distended nubs before he looks up at her.  Her chest is rising and falling rapidly now and she's soaked.  Just how he wants her.  He moves down and rests on his stomach between her muscular thighs and inhales her scent deeply.  "Legs over my shoulders, Skye."

She obeys, looking down, still shocked at what's happening, but so aroused that she's ready for anything.  His palms rest on her hips, adjusting her so she's closer to his mouth right before his fingertips part her so his tongue can trace the length of her slit.

"Coulson...."

He stabs into her deep with his tongue, and her hands frantically knot into his hair, not really knowing what to do.  He zeroes in on the sensitive spots with just the very tip of his tongue, but stops as soon as she reaches the verge of climaxing, drawing it out.

She groans, lifts her hips off the bed, seeking contact from his mouth.  He obliges and goes down, lapping softly with the flat of his tongue.  "Shh.  I'm here."  Another lick, then a soft suck on her clitoris and as he pumps two fingers back into her again.

Skye lets out a ragged moan and clenches the bed sheets at her side, bringing Coulson's level of excitement to new heights.  She bucks upward and against him, frantic for release.  His thrusting fingers increase speed and she cries out, whole body bowing taught when her orgasm crashes over her.

It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen his life.

He gathers her in his arms, waiting for her quivering to settle down and her breathing to catch up.  She is sprawled out, eyes shut, chest heaving, brow slick with perspiration, lips slightly parted.  He rains gentle kisses all over her face and neck, and it takes a full minute of his gentle coaxing for her eyes to open.

He smiles at her.

"I thought... I thought...." she stammers, still breathless.

He frowns a little bit.  "You thought what?"  His hands caress her heated flesh, coasting over her breasts, belly and hips.

"I thought the first time was a fluke," she says.

"What?" he asks, genuinely perplexed.

"The first time you made  me come.  That night in your quarters.  It was the hardest orgasm I'd ever had in my life," she says.  "I thought it was just because I was so turned on and it had been so long and I wanted you so bad."

"That was the hardest orgasm you've ever hard?" he asks. 

She nods.  "Until just now.  That one kinda... kinda stopped my heart for a couple of seconds, I think."  She giggles and buries her face in the crook of his neck. 

He's shocked.  Flattered, but a little pissed.  He forgets a bit too often she's 24, and with that the increased chance her sexual history isn't as great as it could be.  It also makes it pretty clear she might find his size a little intimidating.  He was going to have to take it slow.  She might be too exhausted to go any further, and even if his cock is still rock solid and pressed against her hip, he needs to be a gentleman.

Gently, he kisses her brow again.  "Skye," he says, using the crook of his finger under her chin.  Before he can say another word, she looks up at him and says, "I want you inside me."  He gives her  a look and she answers him readily.  "Yes.  Now."

"I know you're on the pill," he says.  "But do you want me to wear a rubber?"

She shakes her head.  "I want to feel you."

He nods.  "I'm clean.  You know I'd never put you in any kind of harm, right?"

"Yes."

He kisses her deeply again, then flips her on top of him, her legs straddling his sides.  "You need to be on top this first time, baby."  His hands coast over the tops of her thighs, then her belly and her breasts.

"Because you're big?" she asks, her hands spreading out over his abdomen, fingers sifting through his chest hair, over his scars.  She looks down on his handsome face, looking up at her, and she's amazed they're here, like this, in this now.  

"I'm not huge, just a little bigger than average.  But you're tight.  And I don't want to hurt you.  It'll just take a little getting used to, but you can take all of me, I'm sure."

She nods and bites her lip, inflamed by his words.  She's a little scared, but not much.  She wants him inside her so bad, and he says she can take him.  She believes him. 

It's all she needs to know before she lowers herself over him and slides his cock inside ever so slowly.

"Kiss me," he says,  looking up at her, hands on her hips to guide her movement.

She leans forward willingly, and they kiss deeply and gently.  Slowly, he begins rocking into her, each little gasp she makes trapped inside his mouth.  His other hand moves up to the back of her head, keeping her close so he can see her face, and anticipate what she needs. 

Skye is enjoying him and he's relieved she's not tensing up.  There's a small hint of trepidation, but she's forging on, so he takes his sweet time easing into her completely, teasing her and making her want more all on her own.

When he's completely inside her, she sighs deeply into his mouth.  There wasn't any pain, not even any discomfort and she credits it all to him.  She feels full, but in a wonderful way she could never have imagined.

"Liar," she says against his lips.  But she's smiling.

He cocks an eyebrow, hand still on her cheek.

"'I'm just a little bigger than average," she quotes him.  "There's no way this is 'a little bigger than average'."

He chuckles, really resisting the urge to thrust into her.  She has no idea how much she's torturing him.  "Let's keep you in that mindset, shall we?"  He shifts slightly.  "Skye, baby... you're killing me here."

She smiles at him.  A cunning, seductive, fucking sexy smile and Coulson knows what's coming next.  She squeezes him with her sex and takes him in until he's as deep as he can go.

Skye frees her mouth from his.  "This feels... it feels so good."

He keeps his gaze locked to hers.  "Kiss me again, Skye.  Don't stop kissing me."  She's the tightest lover he's ever had, and the most responsive.  The walls of her sex pulse around his shaft, surrounding him with heat.  He swallows hard, working up every ounce of self-control he can muster.

She obliges him and realizes he still hasn't thrust.  She's shocked, and touched and awed.  Coulson, as wonderful as he is, is still a man.  And don't all men  rush to the finish line, usually with just a token of self-restraint?

Not him.  She should have known better, but discovering the assumption is wrong is heart-wrenching in a wonderful, wonderful way.  No, he said she needed to take the lead and he was right, and he was sticking to that.  He cuddles her breasts, pulls her gently back down to him to give her more of those drugging kisses he's so good at, then pays some more attention to her breasts.  Soft suckling on her nipples and some light tugging makes the ache deeper, then build even more and then... Skye has to move because she thinks she'll die if she doesn't.

And when she does, he's there.  Coulson is there helping her, clasping her hips and guiding her so she rides him just right, pulling away then sinking again at the right angle, so she's filled completely with each long stroke.

Heat billows around them.  Their breathing becomes hard and fast, just like their movements.  He sits up, changing the angle again and it hits another spot inside that brings her so close.

Through it all, he's watching over her.  Touching, encouraging, guiding.  Centred on her, on Skye.

It was a first for her.  It was new and exciting, to be someone's center.  Her eyes close and her fingertips sink into his shoulders.  "I love you," she says.

"I love you, too."  No hesitation.

She cups his face in her hands and rains kisses all over him as they rock against each other.   Every time she thinks she's going to go over the edge, it ebbs away. 

"Coulson... please..." she says, not sure what to say.  It happens again.  The pleasure peaks, then elusively slips away.

"I know, baby.  Shhh.  I'll bring you there."  He slips a hand between their bodies, fingers sliding where their sexes are joined, dipping into the wetness, then using it to touch her clit.

She cries out, riding him hard as he sets a rhythm that sends her heartbeat pounding out of her chest.

"Come for me, Skye."

And just like that, she does.

 

 

Coulson watches her, sees the moment when the orgasm takes over.  In as much as he wants to join her, he won't ever forgive himself if he missed seeing her come with him inside her for the first time.  He almost gives in when she makes beautiful little groans, and her face tightens with release, her hair tumbling everywhere when she collapses against him.

She eases, slowly, her wetness and the clasp around his cock releasing a little bit.  She quivers from the aftershocks and she goes limp on his chest, cheek resting on his pec.    He rubs her back up and down, and kisses the top of her head.

"I loved seeing that," he tells her.

She shifts and realizes _he_ hasn't come yet.  He's still inside her, rock-hard.  _Oh my god.  The self-restraint on this man._   Even if she knows he didn't, she still has to ask.  "You haven't come?"

He shakes his head, leans in, kisses her tenderly on the lips.  "I had to see you."  He presses his forehead to hers.  "My turn now, though."

She wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against him.  "Yes."

He thrusts up into her, clasping her warm buttocks in his hands.  Her knees are still drawn up along his sides, knees steadying her, helping her adjust to the cadence of his hips.  He feels her clench around him, then feels and hears the moan from her lips against the ball of his shoulder. She lets out a ragged sigh, followed quickly by a sharp intake.

"It's happening again," she gasps. Her eyes squeeze shut.

Surprised, he pulls away just a little bit and looks at her flushed face.  "Again?"

She nods vigorously, biting her lip, and digs her nails into his shoulders.

 _Fucking amazing_.

It was not easy the first time around to hold back, but he'd kill himself if he cut her short this time around.  He feels her grinding herself on his shaft, knows she's looking for some friction on her clit, so he shifts and flips them over and hooks the back of her knee over his hip.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from exploding prematurely when he feels her squeezing him, and then, just when he thinks he can't last a second longer, she cries out and finally, finally, he lets go with a harsh and guttural groan and thrust hard.

It feels as though something life-changing just happened.

It feels that way because something life-changing just did.

He comes inside her.  It's the strongest orgasm he's had in his life.   She feels him pulsing inside her, and he buries his face into the crook of her shoulder and cries out her name.  She clenches the walls of her sex around him, wanting every last drop inside her, raising her hips, taking him deeper than either of them thought still possible.

"Don't pull out," she whispers against his ear.  "Stay inside me."

He nods, and their mouths find each other and moans are lost inside caverns, tongues entwining.

He collapses on top of her.   They're chest to chest, breathing hard, feeling the pounding of the other's heart.   Coulson showers her with gentle kisses all over her face.

Her eyes close.  "I love you.  So much," she whispers.  It's only when she feels him soften inside her that she concedes and lets him pull out; but not after her hand caresses him gently, fingertip touching the tip of his cock.

"I love you too.  So much."  He lets out a breath, gathering her to him.

She snuffles softly and wiggles to get a better fit, pulling him to her side and flopping herself half over him, legs thrown over his.  "You've ruined me for other women," he says.  But he knows she hasn't heard him.  

Skye has fallen asleep.  He kisses her damp forehead.

There's nothing else to do for now than join her.  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took awhile.
> 
> Damn chapter almost killed me.
> 
> To my awesome readers, thanks for leaving kudos and comments.
> 
> Here's a hint: If you like what you read, leave kudos. If you really like it, leave a comment. 
> 
> Nothing gets a writer's juices going more than validation. We like knowing we're doing something right, and that our efforts are appreciated. But more than that, we like knowing that you clicked on that link, read through it and actually enjoyed it. As opposed to clicking on the link, setting off the counter and going away immediately because it turns out you'd just made a mistake. :P


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